


Surviving the Nightlife

by Miss_M



Series: Surviving the Nightlife [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, F/M, Femdom, Handcuffs, References to Drugs, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-14
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-29 09:50:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1003970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_M/pseuds/Miss_M
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaime should really know better than to make Brienne angry, and then taunt her with those two little words. But he can take the consequences. </p><p>Written in response to three prompts from the 2013 JB Online Ficathon</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surviving the Nightlife

**Author's Note:**

> This one is for Yuuko_Ichihara, because she drew an awesome sigil for my fic Walking the Bear (you can read that fic [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/989386) and see Yuuko’s sigil [here](http://rlossehelin.tumblr.com/post/63190505212/more-ridiculous-fanart)). Yuuko posted the following prompts to the 2013 J/B Ficathon:
> 
>  
> 
> _#47 smut J/B inspired by this "Maybe you wished one of them could overpower you, fling you down, tear off your clothes", where the one overpowered is Jaime_
> 
>  
> 
> _#125 Jaime and Brienne trying something kinky (modern setting, Westeros, anything goes)_
> 
>  
> 
> _#210 I want something somehow canon, where Brienne ties Jaime to a tree because she is tired of him but this somehow becomes sth else_
> 
>  
> 
> So I played to my strengths by making this another Cop!Brienne modern AU, and she doesn’t tie him to a _tree_ , but anyway: here’s my take on these prompts. The title and setup of this fic were inspired by the song “Nightlife” by IAMX. Nothing is owned by me except the smut.

“Bri-e-e-en-ne,” Jaime’s voice was half drawl, half whine as she unlocked the door. “You’re making a big deal over nothing.” 

Brienne was in a cold fury, and did not trust herself to speak. She hit the light switch in the hall hard enough to crack the plastic. 

“Well that’s smart,” Jaime continued as he followed her inside. “Taking it out on innocent, inanimate objects, when it was hardly worth getting upset about to begin with…”

“Would you rather I took it out on you?” she interrupted, her voice low, her eyes aglitter in the semidarkness of their living room. She was motionless, her hands hanging by her sides, deceptively at ease. 

Had he not had a few drinks and a little extra something at the club, Jaime might have noticed she was nowhere near as calm as she sounded. Instead, he waved his hand languidly in Brienne’s face. “I told you, I know those guys from work. They wouldn’t have offered me anything dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” she repeated, her voice starting to crack. “You barely know those men’s names, and even if you did, you still shouldn’t have shoved anything they offered you up your nose.”

Jaime brushed past her, flung himself on their couch, as insouciant as Brienne was tense. “Honestly,” he said. “I finally get you to pour yourself into those tight jeans I’ve been begging you to wear and go to a club with me, and you flip out over nothing. I’ve been going to clubs for years before we met, and nobody has ever spiked my drink or gotten me to take anything I wasn’t fairly sure was safe. Fairly safe. Safe within the parameters of having a good time.” He looked her up and down with irritating slowness. “A concept with which you are clearly unfamiliar, those jeans notwithstanding.” 

“You think snorting illegal substances with virtual strangers is a good time? Oh, of course. I forgot you are shallow and _stupid_.” 

Jaime smiled, a slow smile, sharp as a razorblade and no less inviting for all that. “If we’re going to fling insults, Brienne, let me remind you that that’s another thing I know much more about than you do. So why don’t you wriggle out of those jeans, since you dragged me home so early, and come over here. We’ll find a more pleasant use for all that pent-up anger of yours.” 

“Or I could just arrest you.”

The words hung in the air like a soap bubble for a moment, then Jaime snorted and settled more comfortably on the couch. “The drugs weren’t mine, and I wasn’t looking to make a profit from them. Being shallow and stupid, as you so fondly put it, is not illegal. Anyway, you wouldn’t arrest me. You want to fuck me too much.” And with that, he leaned his head back, spread his knees and grinned up at her, clearly expecting her to walk over and straddle him, end of discussion. 

Brienne did not move for a long moment. When she did come to him, moving slowly, Jaime smiled and reached up a hand to undo her jeans for her. 

She grabbed his hand and flipped him over faster than he could yelp. Knee pressed into the small of his back, his face against a cushion, he couldn’t even protest coherently as she bent his left arm behind his back, then did the same to the right, and handcuffed him with practiced ease. She pulled him up and sat him back down. Jaime tilted awkwardly on the couch, hands straining for purchase behind his back, out of breath, his cocksure composure shattered. 

“Fucking hell, Brienne! What are you doing?”

“You know I never leave home without handcuffs,” she said placidly. She looked a lot calmer now she had the upper hand. “A police officer’s job is never finished.” 

“If you want to play this game, I would prefer handcuffs lined with something soft and not as heavy, hellfire, these are heavy!”

“They’re not meant to soothe, Jaime. And I’m not playing. You think because you have experience with clubs and you’re a man, you’re safe. You’re not. Anyone could take advantage of you while you’re too busy counting pink elephants or whatever it is those drugs would have done to you…”

He couldn’t help it. He had to laugh. “Pink elephants? Seriously? Your knowledge of intoxicating substances ends with what you saw in a _cartoon_?”

“My point is,” she said, anger starting to creep back into her voice, “you need to take better care of yourself.”

“All right. Message received. Now get these off me.”

Brienne did not move. 

“Brienne? Ha ha. I get it. I’ve learned my lesson, scout’s honor. Get these off me.”

“You were never a boy scout,” Brienne said slowly. “Or you were a very bad one. I don’t believe you heard a single word I’ve said. Maybe…” 

She paused, considering. Jaime’s hands were starting to go numb behind him. He swore silently, trying to wriggle feeling back into his fingers. Thus occupied, he did not immediately catch the glint in Brienne’s eye when she looked at him, sprawled on the couch like a puppet with its strings cut. 

“Maybe I should show you what I think is a good time, to make sure you stay off the drugs in future.”

She did not often get _that_ tone in her voice. It snagged Jaime’s attention away from the creeping numbness in his hands. He considered telling her to stop fucking around, or… Brienne did not usually get playful without a lot of prodding from him. He might as well see what she had in mind. 

“It would appear I’m at your mercy.” He settled back on the couch as best he could, offering her easy access to his pelvis. “Go ahead, then. Fuck me.” 

“Oh, I will.”

With that, she turned and headed into the bedroom. Jaime did not have enough time to get apprehensive – she wouldn’t _really_ leave him handcuffed on the couch all night while she went to bed, would she? – before she was back with something in her hand. She put it on the coffee table, and Jaime recognized one of the small bottles of lube they kept in the bedside table. They didn’t often need to use it, Jaime knew how to get her good and wet, except when they…

He met Brienne’s eyes. They glittered with an impish blue gleam. Jaime swallowed, just the once. Let it never be said Jaime Lannister balked in the face of a challenge. 

“Brienne?”

“Jaime?”

“Do it.”

She half smiled with something like relief, and Jaime knew he was safe. She would never hurt him, not even in anger. Plus, he couldn’t deny he was starting to get hard at the thought of her having her wicked way with him, a fact made patently obvious when Brienne undid his jeans and he lifted awkwardly off the couch to help her pull them down to his knees.

He opened his mouth to ask how she wanted him, some of his usual cockiness returning, when Brienne put her hands on his waist and flipped him over again, more gently this time, but no less finally for all that. With his hands handcuffed behind him, the best he could manage was to rest his forehead on the backrest of the couch, and wait. His knees were on the cushions, his ass in the air. He felt vulnerable and nervous and really turned on, and he jumped when Brienne cupped and squeezed and stroked him gently, as gently as she did when he was the one calling the shots. 

He knew he was definitely not calling the shots when her hand left him, heated and alone, and came back to make him slick and ready. He pressed his forehead against the couch, told himself to breathe and relax, nearly laughed when he remembered giving Brienne the same advice the first time he’d fucked her… on this very couch. She’d blushed so hard, Jaime had been worried she’d pass out, but she’d come around quickly enough, warm and wet around him. 

_Hell._ Her finger was long and thicker than most women’s, and her hands always felt great when she stroked his cock, but this was something else entirely. She worked him, steady and slow, how could she be so fucking patient? He knew it would hurt, probably, but he was _dying_ , why didn’t she just do it already? His breath escaped in a low whistle when he felt her finger inside him to the third knuckle. He bit his lip because it hurt just a little, but she was being gentle and he _wanted_ this. He remembered all the times Brienne had tried things he wanted to do, and liked most of them, and he knew he wouldn’t trust anyone else to see him like this, do him like this. 

“Brienne, please…”

She steadied him with her free hand as his hips started to twitch, the gentle friction he generated with her motionless finger shooting through him, every tiny lick of flame a conflagration to his starved flesh. His cock was so hard it hurt, his hands were numb, and she started to move her hand, finally, _finally_ , catching his rhythm and speeding up, still gentle, but in that firm, no-nonsense way of hers. He nearly laughed again, at himself, for thinking of her fucking him, fucking himself with her finger in those terms. This was about as no-nonsense as it got. 

Brienne added a second finger.

Jaime bent his head, resting the top of it on the back of the couch, so he could arch into her thrusts better without his arms to prop him up, and saw his cock, looking engorged and lonely as he moved, getting frantic. He felt Brienne kneel on the couch behind him. Her free hand wrapped around his cock. He was keening, he knew it, and he didn’t care, what she was doing to him… He could make her feel like this, he knew, he’d done it often enough, and if this was what they meant by turnaround is fair play, Jaime wouldn’t have minded if she fucked him every night. 

“Jaime,” Brienne whispered right in his ear, her breath warm on his sweaty face, the catch in her voice telling him this was turning her on as well. “Remember how I told you I worked in Vice for several years?”

He could barely form words at that point, fortunately ‘yes’ was still within his capabilities. He’d been saying little else for the past couple of minutes. 

“You learn about all kinds of things in Vice. I was just thinking,” she continued, playing it cool yet telltale breathy, while her slick fingers and her warm hand made him fall apart, “what do you say we use a strap-on next time?”

That was it. She knew him too well, he had taught her far too well. He threw his head back, his breath half a roar and half a banshee cry, as he clenched and pumped and nearly blacked out, feeling her kiss his neck and murmur gently as she milked his cock and fucked him, his numb hands balled into fists behind him. 

He nearly whimpered when she pulled her fingers out of him, understanding exactly why she sometimes made a small sound of loss when he pulled out of her after he’d made her arch and gasp and pool under him, her cunt still wanting him on the downslope of her orgasm. He wouldn’t have thought anything could make him feel even better just then, but one thing did: Brienne unlocked the handcuffs with shaking hands and took them off him, as gentle as she’d been rough and angry putting them on. 

Pins and needles tap-danced over his hands as blood rushed back in. Jaime flopped onto his back, rotating his wrists, wondering why his head wasn’t tingling with all the blood rushing back up into it from his nether regions. He looked at Brienne where she hovered by the couch, her hands suddenly at a loss as to what to do with themselves, the handcuffs abandoned on the coffee table next to the empty bottle of lube. She couldn’t quite meet his eyes, a warm blush suffusing her features. 

“Those jeans must be soaked through,” he said, working sensation back into his fingers. He crooked his index finger at her. “Come here and sit on me.”

She blushed even more fiercely, moved to straddle him, unbuttoning her jeans, but he stopped her with his hands on her waistband. 

“I mean,” he said, unzipping her, pulling the tight denim down her hips, “sit up here.” He gestured at his face, lifted an eyebrow when she exhaled loudly and hopped, one-legged, out of her jeans. He could smell her arousal once she was half naked, looming over him uncertainly. 

His hands knew this dance well enough. Pins and needles receding, he gripped the soft flesh of her thighs and lowered her to his mouth. She was so wet, so plump from what she’d done to him, strummed him like a fucking guitar, he barely started giving her the tongue-lashing she so richly deserved before she bucked and ground down into him, her thighs trembling against his cheeks. He kept licking her through it, his spent cock almost pulsing, his aching asshole clenching with her. 

He pushed her back gently when she was finally done, so she sat astride his stomach, rested her arm on the back of the couch and her head on her arm, her eyes closed, panting quietly. 

“I may be vain and stupid,” Jaime said pleasantly, “but this wasn’t very smart of you, you know.” He smiled when she looked at him, her eyes big and moist and glassy in the afterglow. “You give me a lecture about why drugs are bad, then you get me off like that. Makes me want to rush out and score again, just to see what you’ll come up with next.”

Brienne buried her face in the crook of her arm, apparently unaware of how the rest of her looked, pink and wet astride him, her top sweat-stained between her breasts. “The idea was to substitute the recreational drugs with occasional outrageous sex acts,” she muttered into her arm.

He pinched her thigh. She glared at him. “I got that. You want to keep me on the straight and narrow, you might just have to produce that strap-on. Or were you just teasing me?” 

Jaime wished he could capture Brienne’s expression in that moment, fold it into his wallet, and be able to look at it whenever life started to seem too dull: the frown, the blush, the moue of outrage, the gleam in her eye, and the smile of pure love, all swirled together on her broad, homely face. Sweat on her upper lip, her hand sliding over his equally sweaty chest to rest over his heart. His hand coming up to cover it, her fingers still slick from making him hers.


End file.
